Asking questions

Christina Capecchi

9/29/15

I'm reading a book that speaks to me as a journalist, Brian
Grazer's 2015 release A Curious Mind: The Secret to a
Bigger Life. In it, the 64-year-old Emmy-winning movie
producer recounts his practice of conducting "curiosity
conversations" twice a month for the past three decades to
fill up his knowledge reserve and walk in someone else's
head.

The book is part memoir, part how-to, urging readers to
unleash the power of curiosity in daily life - in the break
room, on the bleachers - by asking, in essence, "What is it
like to be you?" It's an ode to the power of learning, to the
joy of being surprised and making connections.

"We are all trapped in our own way of thinking," writes
Grazer, "trapped in our own way of relating to people."

The reporter's way as a lifestyle strikes me as an inherently
Christian proposal. It suggests that everyone we encounter -
from stranger to spouse - possesses wisdom that could be
acquired if only we care enough to ask. It hints at the
bedrock of Catholic social teaching, human dignity, each of
us created in the image and likeness of God. It submits that
an understanding of the world comes not from pedigree but
from shoe-leather reporting -listening, observing, leaning in
and following up.

Pope Francis conducted a curiosity conversation last month,
as reported in a quiet, six-sentence Associated Press story.
During an audience in St. Peter's Square, the pope made his
driver stop the popemobile so he could talk to "a tiny granny
with shining eyes."

There was something in her eyes that captivated him,
whispering of secret knowledge: an old body, a childlike
light.

He had to ask her: "Tell me your recipe" for joy.

Her response surprised him. "I eat ravioli," she said. "I
make them."

It was such a concrete answer to an abstract question, its
simplicity blanketing layers of meaning: a woman who has
learned to sustain herself as she cares for others, gathering
them around her table, warming bellies and doling out love in
little pockets of pasta.

It makes me wonder what wisdom figures are right under my
nose, masquerading as bank tellers and mail carriers, as the
familiar or the strange, as the young or the old.

This month I went to a 50th anniversary party in a packed
church gym, where the bride's $90 satin gown was fluffed up
on a mannequin, beckoning from the past. More than 500 people
were there, but one niece and her fiancé couldn't be
there due to their pre-Cana formation. Ironic, I thought, to
attend formal marriage prep and, as a result, miss out on the
chance to learn from these experts.

And so I started asking. I started assuming the people in my
path are generous and wise, and, borrowing from Pope Francis,
I started asking for their recipes for joy. The cashier at a
McDonald's drive-thru, the cart pusher at my local grocery
store, whomever I could manage.

I found myself in the speckled shade of an oak on a Thursday
afternoon, handing over a dollar for a bag of jingle bells
and ribbon, shopping for secondhand wisdom at a garage sale
on the edge of town.

The woman who lives there told me she spends more than a
month adorning her house with Christmas lights and
inflatables. Then she and her husband dress as Santa and Mrs.
Claus, giving toys to the children who visit and responding
to their letters on official North Pole stationery with
personalized, handwritten details. Her faith is at the heart
of the operation, she said, smiling broadly in the sun. "What
you give comes back to you tenfold."

Capecchi is a freelance writer from Inver Grove Heights,
Minn., and the editor of sisterstory.org.